It’s not you.

Is it me?

It’s not me, right?

Maybe it is. It could be.

You’re a good man.

I know it’s true. There’s no doubt about the goodness in you.

But there’s a sadness too.

I know what quiets that sadness in you.

It’s the only time I see the little boy your mother tells me stories about.

Do I want you to be someone you’re not? Someone I see because I want to see you that way?

Or do I see the you who you actually want to be, not just because of me?